Fracture
by Penelope18
Summary: A mentally disturbed Dilandau cracks when he sees an Allen look-alike. Rated M to be on the safe side


The dungeon of the Vione lies deep within, down a maze of corridors. However, one young man knows the route familiarly well. He's walking there now, measuring each footstep in anticipation. His mouth twitches and his fingers tingle. With each step his leather boots emit a dull thud that echo down the hall, announcing his slow, but imminent arrival.

Sweat collects in a string of beads above his brow even though the air down here is wet and chilled. His heart races and his stomach churns as a wave of nauseatic déjà-vu passes through him. The entrance is unguarded, because the dungeon is rarely used.

The Zaibach military believe in total annihilation and no mercy as it carries out its plan to dominate Gaea, which means the Vione has few guests to welcome to its depths. Be it so, our young soldier found one beauty to extend an invitation to. She had screamed with delight, or terror rather as he escorted her back to his home. Of course, being dragged by horse over pastures and fields, wasn't the typical transport for a woman such as she, but our man wanted to make no mistake about his intentions. On horseback with one hand clutching her long ribbon of blonde hair, he galloped away from the wreckage of an insignificant village. Just that morning, the Strategos had ordered the soldiers to conduct a mock battle as part of their training. It was a mock battle only in the sense that it served no purpose in winning the war. It was merely a mission to test skills, weapons, and new inventions of destruction. The village was hit by surprise, and laid to waste by the man we are watching now, walking through the hall. He hacked to bits every being in his path, and set fire to the houses one by one. If the heat and smoke were like incense to him, then the smoldering embers enveloping corpses were his temple of prayer.

He had saved the young woman before setting her house alight. But that was after he had locked her family in one of the bedrooms. He had also dashed her baby's brains against the wall several times. 'It's chunks of pink and red were beautiful,' he thought. The rivulets were like paint swirling together and cascading down the wall into a puddle. 'A real work of art.'

He enters the dungeon. 'Right where l left her.' She's a huddled mass in the corner of a cell, sobbing to the point of hyperventilating. Her inhalations come in short and choked, but she exhales in hoarse, ragged wails. She has been there since the morning. The odor of her excrement and piss mix in with the smell of mildew. The scene is intoxicating; her fear, her trembling, and her helplessness.

There are a few other occupants in the cells but he neglects them. 'Freaks of science that the Sorcerers haven't used up yet.' Some are disgusting to behold, others' minds and souls have left them. He looked into the glistening eyes of one boy-child. 'He is still fresh,' he thinks. 'If I kill him now, I could put him out of his misery.'

With a jerk as if pulled by a string of an invisible puppeteer, he smacks himself. "You fool!" he shouts to himself. "Idiot!" He yanks his hair in an added measure to make his point. He regains his composure, and redirects his attention back to the woman.

He had Dalet dress her in a tunic and pants. The extra folds of cloth covered her curves, giving her a boyish figure.

He opens the gate with a key he had stolen from a Sorcerer. She sits upright, waiting for the expected. His cruelty is infamous. Inhabitant of Gaea who have any ears for rumours or eyes for the news are well aware his legendary for inhumanity. In these war-stricken times, parents warn their children to hide from the 'red ghost' if the Zaibach Army ever singles out their village or farm.

Our soldier is wearing his leather pants, and a long –sleeved, white tunic. There was no need for haughty decorum for this side-job. Moreover, it was always a relief to peel off his uniform at the end of the day. He wanted to be comfortable for this. He wanted to feel free, and light with his nerve endings receptive and bare.

He gags her with his handkerchief. With the rope that he has brought, he forcefully ties her thumbs together and then her ankles. Then he throws the ends of the rope over the rafters, so that she is pulled off her feet, and dangles by her thumbs. They are immediately dislocated.

She panics and twists in the air like a fish caught in a net. There's no escape. Our soldier unfurls a long thick whip with a cracking flourish. He had found this whip when he was a younger self after dismembering a rice farmer. He and his fellow soldiers had won a battle and had been celebrating in an open field when they came across the old man who had refused to be driven from his home by the military siege. He had taught him a lesson. Then they tied explosives to his water buffaloes, which erupted in a muffled but brilliant explosion of reds. They were like fireworks. 'Somehow those beasts were more beautiful on the inside…'

In the shadows, he looks like a ghost. His skin is sickly pale. She watches him out of the corner of her eyes. His stare is captivating, they don't move. 'Is he waiting for something?' The whip dangles menacingly at his side. Then without cause, his eyes contract to black pin points. His garnet-like eyes, which had glimmered multi-faceted, in an instant went dark. If the eyes are the mirrors to one's soul, his are blank and opaque. Empty.

In a voice that is shrill and incongruous with the male figure standing before her, he says calmly, ' Allen, brother. This is for you.'

The whip tears her skin to shreds as it curls around her body. Blood and flesh splatter the walls, and mask his face. Each lash brings a shower of crimson. He cackles with insane pleasure as he sees the mass before him oozing, and tender; a hunk of meat. Her cries of pain had dissipated long ago. She is unconscious, but he can't stop.

He's in a fury. Over and over and over. No, he's in a panic. He thinks that this carnage will somehow right things wrong, bring him justice. He throws down the whip with disgust and unsheathes his dagger. He walks close to her, and looks in her eyes. All sign of life is gone. He clutches her face as if she can hear. "Allen, this is for me. I'm doing this for me. Feel the pain I must feel." His voice come out in a cold whisper.

In a swift motion, his dagger cuts a clean cut at belly. Her innards spill in a gush to the floor. With her raw flesh exposed, he claws at her until bones protrude.

What was left, would be left there to be eaten by the rats for days to come.


End file.
